A Walk Down Hart Road, Where I Saw The Black Fox

 

I haven't been on Hart Road for a long time but it's a good place to walk, little traffic, paved road, uphill all the way out and downhill all the way back. At the top of the hill, a dirt road goes off to the right. I can choose to walk down it  to extend my walk or I can turn back and make it a short mile. 

Chance and I had just started out and were maybe a quarter mile from the car, when I spied an animal sitting in the road ahead of us. At first I thought it was a cat but it exhibited strange behavior unlike that of a cat.  It sat there in the road as we approached, half turned toward us. It watched us coolly, almost sizing us up. I was curious, but I didn't know what else it could be, though what else it could be except maybe a very small dog? I wondered, though, why a little dog would be out in the middle of the road that way.  There's not a lot of traffic on that road, and it is a dead end, but the few cars that travel it drive at a good clip. It watched us cooly as we approached.

 

As we drew nearer, the animal turned and trotted into the woods. That's when I got a good look at its shape. The ears were large and erect, the body lean and fluffy, and the tail long and bushy. It was a fox, but a black fox. I've seen many foxes, but at that point I wasn't sure that I had actually seen what I thought I had seen, so I looked it up on my phone. Sure enough, a black fox is a color variation of the red fox,  thoughsightings are very rare. I wish I had had the wit to take a picture, but I  was unprepared because I'd thought it was a cat. The picture below shows a Google image of a black fox that looks much like the one I saw, except for the white-tipped tail.

 

 

After I saw the fox, I decided to record my thoughts as I was walking.

 

Here I am standing at the entrance to the blueberry field on Hart Road.The rocks spreading across the way look like a granite waterfall.  Every time I go by this entrance, I want to walk into that field. I haven't done it yet, but I think I will soon.

 

 Chance is looking steadfastly out Into the woods. He is sure that there's something out there that he wants to chase.  I'm sure, too, that there's wildlife out there that would interest him very much indeed. He may not know it, but I know that if he starts to take off he will end up leashed.

The light is beautiful this time of evening. I'm passing a field full of flowers. They're pink and profuse.  As I look closely, they appear to be in the Scrofulariaceae family. I'll have to look it up when I get home. I love Maine, I feel so blessed to live here. I can do without the winters but if I had to choose between city all year round in the South in a perfect climate, or Maine with its winters and me having to stay here, I would choose Maine.

 Before we left the car, I  turned my app on to find out how far I'm walking today. I'm guessing it's going to be close to two miles but I'm not sure. Whatever it is, it's a good walk. There are so many late season flowers around.

 Om our way back, I notice blackberry bushes. The blackberries are small and hard this year . There wasn't enough rain for them to fill out with juices. 

Chance is trailing behind me. I wish he wouldn't do that. I'd much rather see him in front of me so I can keep an eye on him. At least then if something catches his eye,  I can catch him. Truth be told, though, if I hear a squirrel, I look around to find Chance, because chasing squirrels is one of his favorite pastimes.

 I should be carrying my field glasses with me, I just saw a small bird flying right in front of me only a few feet away. He swooped, reversed course and swept around a tree, landed on a branch on another tree. After sitting there for a moment, he then took off again. I think it was a nuthatch but I'm not sure because I just can't see well enough without those binoculars.

Now I'm coming to a private road that is blocked by a gate every time I come here I want to walk down that road, or rather up that road Iwant to see what's on the other side. Maybe one day I'll run into the owner, maybe1one day I'll get the opportunity to walk up that road. In the meantime it's on my bucket list.One of my dreams.  I'm always curious what's at the end of the road.

 Just as I was thinking that I haven't seen any purple flowers which I associate with fall, I came across several bushes with purple aster. Hallelujah! Fall isn't fall without purple flowers.

 We're back at the car. My estimate was very close, 1.9 miles. It's getting  dark. Tme to go home.

An Evening Walk

It's been a long time since I blogged, but my walk this evening felt so good that I wanted to share it.

Maine is beautiful in the summer and fall.  As I walked today, I found myself appreciating the natural world that is so much a part of rural Midcoast Maine.

Stone walls are everywhere, a reminder that "Good fences make good neighbors".

A reminder, too, of just how many rocks came out of fields when plowing in the early days. Maine grows rocks, heaving them out of the ground in the spring when frost thaws.

 Dead and dying trees become home for grubs and insects, and in turn, feeding grounds for woodpeckers. Slowly the wood returns to the earth as it crumples.  The patterns are marvelous, mysterious holes begging to be considered.

A late Scotch Bluebell blooms next to a dying tree. I was surprised to see it there.  They usually bloom in July.

The blueberry field always offers a spectacular view of the bay, making it one of my favorite spots.

It's fascinating how the ripe grasses take on a feathery aspect as we move into fall. 

The last of the blueberries.  The harvesters came very late this year. I wasn't sure they were coming at all, but they appeared the last week of August, rushing in one day and gone the next.

This patch escaped their notice, probably because it was on the edge of the opposite field, which was fallow this year so escaped notice.  There are many varieties of wild blueberries in Maine, some very dark, almost black, and some the familiar blue that we associate with "real" blueberries. These are falling off the bush, ripened and left behind for birds and wildlife, and sometimes the occasional gleaner.

When I see the string left behind by the harvesters, I worry that small animals can become entangled.  I think tomorrow I'll go back with a knife and a spool to collect as much as I can.

It's easy for the unwary to be fooled.  These are not blueberries, not even in the same family. Alder Buckthorn are native to England but are found in North America. The plant is prized for use as hedgerows, but can be used medicinally as well.

 

Granite is everywhere in New England. The frost heaves that grow stones in Maine also break granite into pieces. The result is fascinating and beautiful, Earth's sculpture.                                    

 

 

Pyrotechnics

        My friend Laura Tasheiko called me a couple of days ago to come join her for a bonfire in her yard.  She had several piles of brush and the day was mild with little wind.  Off we went.  Maddie was so happy to have a playmate, and she and Chance ran together, exploring the woods, for a good hour, until Chance decided he just wanted to hang out with the humans--and Maddie decided to go exploring by herself. 

Maddie and Chance had a great time running and playing...

After a while, their interests varied.

        Laura and I dragged fodder for the fire from the brush piles (she did a lot more than I did), and I found some very dry sticks that I snapped up (literally) for kindling.  I had to fight Maddie for them, though, because she loves to play with sticks and kept running off with them.  Worse, Chance decided he wanted to check out the new play toy.  No!  I do not need a dog that gets splinters in his mouth!

Chance guarded the bonfire...but at a distance.

Once dry leaves or fir needles caught fire, the flames became quickly spectacular.

           Laura’s friend Leslie and her friend Martin came over a while later, and then we all got involved.  By the time I left around a quarter to four, there were two bonfires and a good chunk of the brush piles had been consumed.  Our inner pyromaniacs had been well satisfied.

At first Martin helped feed the first bonfire...

...but eventually he and Laura started another, all the quicker to get the brush burnt.

 

And we kept adding to the original.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the road again.

           Even before I moved out of Unity, I had a housesitting job lined up in Pennsylvania.  Basically, it’ll pay for my expenses there and back, but I get to spend Thanksgiving with Valerie and Jack again, and take care of Duke, the Carolina Dog, again.  Yes, that’s a real breed of dog, though it was new to me when I first met Duke last spring, the first time I housesat here.

 

           So, on Tuesday morning I left Maine, knowing that I would have to stop half-way and spend the night somewhere, because I just can’t drive at night anymore.  Couchsurfing to the rescue!  This is a site that I joined when it first went online years ago, and I’ve both hosted and been a guest.  It’s a great way to meet new and very interesting people.  My host for Tuesday night was Ruthy, who co-owns a huge house in Northampton, Mass, and shares it with multiple housemates and guests.  With an easy smile, and a good conversationalist, she turned out to be hugely interesting, not in the least because I never was sure of her gender.  I mean, she had a small beard, a slim but not-very-curvy body, and there was a book about using gender-neutral language on the table when I got there.  She and 17 others run a business called “Pedal People”, and they collect trash from people and take it to the transfer station for a fee.  They do this using bicycles, and it was fascinating to watch. 

 

           Ruthy comes from Kentucky and her father raised Saanen and Sable-Saanen goats.  How’s that for a small world?  We talked about ADGA and Saanens and Sables for a bit, and then moved on to vaccines.  Turns out Ruthy has a radio show every Wednesday and she asked if she could interview me for the show.  We discussed vaccine safety and lack of testing, the VAERS system, and the 1986 law that gave vaccine manufacturers a free pass.  I’m curious how it was received, as anyone questioning vaccines is usually viciously attacked.  Vaccination is now in the category of religion, and woe to anyone who questions the doctrine.

 

           The next morning, on to Pennsylvania and my cousin Val’s.  I spent the night and stayed for Thanksgiving dinner.  And what a dinner it was!  Jack, Valerie’s husband, is the chief cook and he is a very good cook.  I had brought with me three kinds of cheese (two of which I made), hummus, and liver paté and we all snacked on that.  While there,

I also made a paleo pumpkin pie.  Mmm.  It turned out very well, and since dinner was so late, Val and I quieted our grumbling stomachs with a piece of pie and a generous dollop of raw heavy cream, the kind you can spoon out of the jar.  Sooo much better than whipped cream!. 

 

           After dinner, I started my housesitting and, happily, Duke not only remembered me but was happy to see me.  We spent a good part of the evening playing ball.  When I reached under the sofa to retrieve a ball, and found a bone he hadn’t finished, the game was over.  He’s been carrying that bone around ever since.

 

 

 

 

           It was COLD when I got up in the morning, and it took me until early afternoon to take Duke for a walk.  That didn’t last long, about a half mile.  Duke needed to have some free time, I thought, so we headed over to a dog park recommended by his owners.  Alas, it was closed, padlocked, locked up tight.  No dog park activity allowed when the town offices are not open, apparently.  I headed for another dog park that I’d taken him to last spring.  I’d forgotten about Black Friday.  The traffic was thick enough that I headed home.  

 

        I took Duke to the Cuddy Dog Park this morning.  There were two more dogs there: a 2 year old French Bulldog and a 4 year old rescue that looked like the RCA Victor listening dog, which turns out to have been probably a Fox Terrier cross.  Mario (the rescue) and Duke played hard for almost an hour, and then the three owners/handlers went for a walk together.  I wish I'd had my phone to video their play, but I left it in the car, even though I had my purse with me.  Not the first time I've done something like that and later regretted it.  By the time we got home, Duke was played out.  Within minutes, he was sacked out on the floor.  Even tonight, he's quiet and sleepy. I am so glad I took him there!

        

A morning walk

          Having Chance motivates me to get out and go walking.  It's far too easy to become house bound, but an energetic dog needs more exercise than squirrel chasing.  Now that it's fall, it seems the wind picks up around 9:00, so if I want to enjoy my walk, I'm out the door by 7:30 latest.  This morning I decided to park at the end of Hart Road and trek down the dirt road that connects Hart with Hunt Road.  I recall driving it several years ago when it was in good shape, and then driving it a few years later when it was less maintained.  Road extensions in neighboring towns seem to go by the wayside and eventually disappear.  What has saved Hart/Hunt Road extension is the blueberry barrens that are raked annually.  Trucks and cars have to get in there, so even though there are a few rough spots, the road is still intact.

Blueberry fields in fall are a sight to behold. This picture doesn't do it justice.

           It's a beautiful walk through the woods from the Northport side.  As expected, I found a few places that were challenging--puddles that covered the entire road, places that a car might sink into, washed out portions that didn't matter much on foot but would give pause to someone in a low-slung vehicle.  Luckily Chance showed me where the dry spots were.  Is there anything better than a dog to show you where to walk high and dry?

One of the easier puddles to navigate, but I was glad I was walking and not driving.

 I even saw one pathway that veered off the road and down the hill. Deer path?  Something to explore another day.

A pathway to the right and down the hill, saved for another day.

           We walked all the way down to within a few yards of Back Belmont Road, then turned and walked back.  It's obvious that it's election time. Even on this quiet road, signs proclaiming candidacy march one ahead of the other.  Chance, perhaps making a political statement, marked them all.

          As we approached the end of the pavement to return home, I let my eye wander over a track to the right, taking in the fence, and musing on where it might lead. 

A track off to the side, just where the pavement ends, looked very inviting.

Chance was ahead of me, intent on something in the woods...I thought.

Not wanting to trespass, I kept on my way. Chance had no such compunction.  As I peered through the trees, I discovered a house just visible. 

It's hard to see the house through the trees, but as I peered, it came into view.

The house at the end of the lane.

I realized Chance was not with me, called his name, and in a minute he came bounding down the track.  No doubt he got a close-up view, but like the wonderfully obedient dog he is, he left his explorations to return to my side.  I love this dog!

          Maine has some of the most beautiful stone walls, and this road is no different.  I sometimes envision the early settlers hauling them one by one, stacking them into useful borders. "Good fences make good neighbors."  Ayuh!  I'm glad I get to admire them rather than build them.  Farming was not an easy task when the ground was such a challenge.

Good fences make good neighbors.  Having hauled a few stones by hand, I can imagine the labor to build this.

           I think we walking in total a little less than two miles.  We got back to the car a little before 9:00.  By 9:15 it had started to gust.  Perfect timing.

Taking a chance on Chance.

The adventure continues!  For those who don't follow me on Facebook, Chance is a Sheltie that I took home for a couple of days, just because I missed having a dog and because I really like Chance.  His owner, Stephen Lee, was going to rehome him in December, and I thought I might be able to find someone to take him. And so I did.  Me.

I took Chance to be groomed today at FairWinds Grooming Studio.  

 

Before his grooming session

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After--he looks thinner, but much fluffier.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daryl is another goat person and a premier groomer in the state of Maine. She instructed me how to do a careful and thorough grooming, a necessary task for a double-coated Sheltie. He wasn't thrilled with being washed, dried, and brushed, but he was so well behaved.  He looked less than thrilled, but took it all with only a bit of a "hang-dog" look ;)

Chance with his cap on to protect his ears.  

Oh my gosh, the fur that came out of him! 

 

Check out that pile of undercoat!

He looked thinner and felt softer afterward.  He had a "burdock clip" a few weeks ago, so his ruff and quite a lot of the guard hairs are missing.  Now he's brushed and clipped, and even his paw fur is trimmed.  I'm looking forward to seeing what he's like in 6 months after his coat grows in and he's had 6 months of raw diet. He's beautiful as he is now, and when he's all grown in again, I'll bet he'll be stunning. 

He's certainly a happy dog! I think he likes having a person all to himself, especially one who plays ball and throws toys for him. Yeees, he's here to stay. I don't know if I picked him or he picked me, but I love having him around. One of the side benefits, too, is that now I have to get out and walk, because he needs walks--even though he spends a good part of his day chasing and barking at squirrels. (Those pines are TALL! The squirrels keep getting away!)

 

He's definitely my boy, and I'm grateful to Stephen Lee for pushing him on me for the past year. Smart man! He knew Chance was meant for me.

 

An unlucky break

I left Weatherford at the end of February. a mutual friend had told me about someone who needed help on her goat farm, a Saanen goat farm. It had been raining for several days and we weren't able to do much at the farm in Weatherford, so I left early and headed for Northeast Texas.

I loved every minute of it. there were so many kids running around and if there's anything cuter than a Saanen kid, it's several Saanen kids.

One little buckling was very weak. when he was born, his clueless mother let everyone else nurse on her and he got little to no colostrum. they been separated from the herd, of course, but he still wasn't doing very well. it's called failure to thrive and clearly he was not thriving. 

Because he wouldn't nurse when I held him to his mother, just barely able to stand, I decided to bottle feed him. I did that for four feedings, then I put him to the teat and to great pleasure, he started to nurse. I was thrilled! he wasn't out of the woods yet but he was definitely improved. I checked on him 3 or 4 times a day and if his belly felt really round I left him alone but if he seemed listless, I took him to his mother again. he was still pretty weak. in fact, if he laid down on a slight incline he couldn't get up, and I would come running when I heard him crying.

By the time I left, I still wasn't sure he was going to make it because he was still not active. I was wrong. A few days later I got word that he was jumping around, and nursing vigorously.

 I left sooner than I had intended, not because I wanted to, but because of something that happened: I broke my wrist, and not just my wrist, but my right wrist, my dominant hand.

 Now how did I do that? you might ask. Here's what happened. I decided to clean out some of the water buckets. As I was scrubbing one of them out, I lifted it to empty the water that was in there. It was rather muddy out there just around the buckets, and I slipped and started to fall backwards. Of course, I put out my arms to stop the fall. Whoops! As soon as I landed, I knew it had broken. It looked terribly deformed, so with my other hand I grabbed my fingers and pulled hard, twice, to get it back in place. Then I went to the house to get a ride for x-rays. Since it was Saturday, I went to an urgent care, where they confirmed what I already knew: it was broken. They splinted it and advised me to see a specialist on Monday.

 When Monday rolled around, I called the orthopedist they recommended, Charles Wittenberg, D.O. and was able to get in quickly. The visit didn’t go quite as I anticipated.

Dr. Wittenberg unwrapped my arm, looked at the x-rays, and stated that I didn't need surgery. He told me that the wrist needed to be bent so that it would heal properly, that there was too much swelling to put a cast on, but he could do that at my next appointment. He commented that he would like to also put mr on a drug for osteoporosis. On hearing that, I said to him “Oh, I'm sure there's something we can do to treat this naturally.“ “Like what?“ he asked. “Well,“ I replied, “like diet and exercise.“ He replied but if that were the case, I wouldn't have had the problem to begin with. “Not necessarily“, I answered. “I might not be getting the right minerals.“ “Good luck with that!“ he exclaimed, “but I allow people their illusions. You can certainly have yours.“

I advised him that I wouldn't be in Texas for more than a day or two. He stated that he wasn’t going to do anything since I wouldn't be there for a follow-up.  He then told me that as soon as I got someplace where I was going to stay for a couple of weeks, I should I should get an orthopedist to take care of the wrist. Surprised, I asked, “Why don't you change the splint then; you can put my wrist in the right position. He answered that he would do that if he were going to cast it. I reminded him that I wouldn't be there and if it needed to be set why not do it now? He again stated that he would do that if he wasn’t going to cast it. I again said to him, “Why not just put a new splint on it with a different shape?” He replied, “You already have a splint.” I reiterated, “But it's not the right shape, my wrist isn't where it's supposed to be.” He again stated that I already had a splint,  and  told me that no doctor was going to take me on as a patient if I wasn't going to follow up with them. Well, I knew that wasn't true since I'd already had dealings with doctors with broken bones in Pennsylvania when I broke my ankle. 

A more arrogant, overbearing, self-righteous doctor I have never encountered. He rewrapped my arm and sent me on my way.

There's more to this story but I'll save that for another day.  By the time I reached the Tucson area, it had been a week.  I wasn't overly concerned because Dr. Wittenberg  had said the swelling had to go down.  Much to my surprise and dismay, when I saw the orthopedists in Tucson, they asked if the wrist had been set.  "Uh, no, though I did give it a couple of good tugs to pull it into place after I fell."  "Good thing," was the reply.  The doctor in Tucson then proceeded to completely remove the bandage, and apply a cast.  Then he set it, in the cast, x-raying before and after.  "Well," he said, "let's cross our fingers and hope that it stays in place.  This should have been set in Texas."  "But what about the swelling?" I asked.  "Change the cast," he replied, "when it gets too loose."

Alas, it didn't hold, and I needed surgery--which wouldn't have been necessary had the good doctor (tongue-in-cheek here) done his job.  C'est la vie.   I now have a lovely piece of metal in my wrist, but you know, it doesn't set off the metal detectors!  I'm thankful that I have the use of my wrist, and happy that I could proceed on my way.